9/11, A Generation Later

So yesterday was 9/11. Anyone above a certain age in
America, and in many countries around the world, knows what that means. A day
of horror and grief as terrorists attacked America, flying commercial airliners
filled with passengers into buildings. The day the Twin Towers of Manhattan
became twisted rubble, the Pentagon lost a side, and a plane full of heroes
plunged into a field.

That was 18 years ago. Almost a full generation. I remember
it like it was yesterday. The horror, the pain, the tears, the rage, the grief.
My daughter is 9 years old. She’s in 4th grade. This is the first year they
really talked about it in school. Honestly, I don’t know how the teachers do
it, as I know they all feel the same emotions I do when I think about it.

My daughter came home and started asking questions about my
experience, but it soon turned to the events themselves. She was very impressed
with the people on Flight 93. “They didn’t fight to save themselves, but to
save other people.”

And we talked about why the Towers eventually fell, and why
they didn’t right away. We talked about why the firefighters and other first
responders kept going back in for more and more people even as the likelihood
of structural collapse rose.

We discussed why the terrorists targeted the buildings they
did (“Why didn’t they crash into the Statue of Liberty? That’s a symbol of
America.”). The heart of our military and the heart of our business sector. And
why they attacked America and not other Western countries.

For all that we talked, there were some things I did not
tell her.

I did not tell her that people jumped from the Towers rather than burn to death.

I did not tell her there were babies on Flight 93, and likely on others.

I did not tell her that even today people who were at Ground Zero are dealing with the illnesses contracted from the toxic debris.

I did not tell her because she is only nine, and there are
some things she doesn’t need to know yet.

Some things I wish I could un-know.

So instead, we talked about other parts of 9/11.

The rescue dogs that patrolled the debris searching for survivors.

The motley flotilla of boats that raced to Manhattan and ferried people to safety.

The generosity and compassion of Canada as they took in flights full of frightened and bewildered Americans.

We talked about those things, because that was the progression
of the day: Horror. Grief. Pain.

Hope.

Hope for a better future—a future I see in the face of my
daughter and all of the current generation. We will never be able to fully
transmit to them the terror of that day.

But we can give them the hope.

Lady Liberty’s torch shines on, and they are the ones to carry
it next.